Coronavirus took his life, but Summerlin man achieved American dream
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Antonio Zantua’s greatest dream was to achieve the American dream.
Known as the “little big man,” Zantua grew up with little money and was raised by a family of farm workers in Daet, the capital of Camarines Norte, a province in the Philippines. He was set to inherit land of his own one day.
But he wanted more.
Zantua dreamed of becoming a doctor. He wanted to get married and have a family. He wanted to raise his children in the United States.
At the time of his death from COVID-19 on March 24, at 81, Zantua had accomplished those dreams and more. A database of state records and reports maintained by the Las Vegas Review-Journal indicates Zantua was the eighth coronavirus victim in Nevada.
“He was really a man of will,” his daughter, Judy Houser, said.
When Zantua was 17, he met a girl named Norma, an aspiring doctor from Bulacan, a province north of Manila. She thought she might specialize in pediatrics, or maybe gynecology.
The two dated casually throughout college. Then, at 26, after they both finished medical school, they eloped. They couldn’t afford a wedding, much less starting over in a new country.
They did it anyway.
A slice of the American dream
“It was all about the American dream and working hard,” their son, Anthony, said. “They could have stayed in the Philippines, and it might have been easier, but they took the risk for more opportunities. It took a lot of guts to do that.”
In 1965, Zantua walked away from his land inheritance, and the young couple flew to Canada, each arriving with just one suitcase filled with their belongings from a past life.
Two years later, amid the Vietnam War, the couple moved to the Bronx in New York City. There, Zantua began an anesthesiology residency, and the couple welcomed Anthony, their first child.
Norma Zantua decided to give up her career. She wanted more kids. And she doesn’t regret it, she tells her children today.
About a year after their son’s birth, Antonio Zantua was drafted by the U.S. Army and deployed to Vietnam. He was there for about a year and reached the rank of major before he was honorably discharged.
Zantua and his wife eventually settled in Mason City, Iowa, after Zantua completed a residency program in Ohio. By then, their family was complete: One son and three daughters Laureen, Judy and Claire.
The anesthesiologist spent the majority of his career working in Iowa, and he and his wife raised their children there.
A landlocked state, the couple managed to find a ranch-style home, paved on the exterior with light-colored brick, right on the water of Briarstone Lake, a small man-made body of water.
The house was built on a hill. It had black marble countertops throughout. There was a huge deck in the backyard overlooking the water.
Zantua loved to sit on the edge of the lake when it was warm outside and feed the fish, hurling chunks of Hawaiian bread rolls into the water. In the mornings, he’d start his day with that view while he sipped a cup of coffee and read the newspaper.
It was Zantua’s first real taste of the American dream.
‘The best role model’
As an anesthesiologist, Zantua worked long, demanding hours. He was devoted to his work.
Still, he made sure to be there for all the big — and small — moments in his children’s lives. Every school concert. Every football game. If he promised a family vacation, nothing, not even work, could get in the way.
“He believed in and always supported his family,” Laureen Retzer, his daughter, said. “He was the best role model.”
Zantua taught his kids how to drive. How to balance a checkbook. How to cook a perfect steak. How to play tennis and how to ski.
“If he ever made a promise to us, he always followed through,” Claire Evans, his youngest daughter, said.
And every Sunday morning, like clockwork, Zantua would round up his family for Mass. A devout Catholic rooted in his faith, Zantua had even considered becoming a priest when he was younger.
“What happened?” his kids would tease over the years.
“I met your mom,” he’d say.
Antonio and Norma Zantua were married for 53 years. They lived in at least six different states, raised four children and had four apo, which means grandchildren in Tagalog.
In the late 1990s, Zantua decided to retire at 58. He spent the next two decades, up until his death, traveling the world with his wife.
One of their first trips was to Las Vegas. Before the end of that vacation, Zantua had bought a house for him and his wife in Sun City Summerlin.
“He’s the type of person that when he sees something he likes, he has to do it,” Norma Zantua said, still describing her husband in the present tense. “He’s a go-getter.”
Recently, the couple had decided to slow down. They were getting older, and international travel wasn’t quite as easy as it once was. But before that, Antonio Zantua wanted to fulfill his longtime dream of visiting the Holy Land, a biblical region that stretches from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea.
They were set to leave in mid-February, just as the COVID-19 pandemic was ramping up, with a group of about 40 of their friends spread out across the United States.
“A month before our trip, he’s already packing our things,” Norma Zantua said of her husband, laughing.
‘A good marriage’
The couple traveled for about three weeks, visiting Egypt, Jordan, Jerusalem and Israel before returning to Las Vegas around March 7.
Antonio Zantua spent the next few days sleeping. A lot. Maybe he was jetlagged?
Then his temperature spiked to 103 degrees.
On March 13, Norma Zantua called for paramedics, and her husband was taken to Southern Hills Hospital and Medical Center. Then she called her son, Anthony, who lives in Minneapolis. He flew to Las Vegas the next day.
By March 17, Antonio Zantua didn’t even know his name or where he was. He was placed on a ventilator the next day, his wife’s 81st birthday.
Anthony Zantua called his sisters, all of whom live in the Seattle area.
“You need to be here,” he told them.
By the time his sisters arrived, their mother, too, had come down with COVID-19 symptoms. She was admitted to the hospital and placed on the same floor as her husband.
The couple both tested positive for the novel coronavirus. Only Norma Zantua survived.
“Fifty-three years he was beside me and all of a sudden he’s gone,” Norma Zantua said this week, crying. “It’s scary to face life alone, but you know, I have to be strong and open-minded to face the future. I’m glad our children could see what a good marriage is like.”
She was released from the hospital within a week, and is continuing to recover and regain her strength. She recently tested negative for the virus.
Her husband died on March 24 and has been laid to rest at the Southern Nevada Veterans Memorial Cemetery in Boulder City. A proper celebration of life will be held once coronavirus-related restrictions are fully lifted.
“It was really important to my dad that when he left this world, my mom would be taken care of, and that what he left behind would be something that we could be proud of,” Houser, his daughter, said. “And he did all of that.”
Contact Rio Lacanlale at rlacanlale@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0381. Follow @riolacanlale on Twitter.
